I leaned forward, eager too.
Zairena rolled up her sleeves and sat at the wheel, cranking it a few times before she began feeding in straw-colored fibers from her free hand. Gradually, a lustrous golden thread began to unspool.
Lady Bushian’s friends gasped with delight.
“It certainly is beautiful,” said one, “but why not buy thread from the market? It would be much easier.”
“Indeed it would,” Zairena agreed, “but not golden thread. The color is difficult to find these days, given that we might be going to war with A’landi. My father’s carriage was carrying shipments of this very dye when we were so cruelly attacked.” She swallowed visibly, her round face paling. “Spinning it on my mother’s wheel makes me feel close to them.”
“What will you do with the thread when you finish?”
Zairena held up the spool, and her voice rose with pride. “I will send it to the Nameless Queen.”
At the mention of Raikama, I snapped to attention.
“The emperor himself heard about what happened to my parents. He must have felt badly for me after suffering his own loss, and told Her Radiance about my threads. She’s placed an order for forty spools to make new ceremonial robes. That is why I must spin all day, so I may send it to the palace before the Winter Festival.”
Forty spools of golden thread—for a new ceremonial robe? In all my years living with Raikama, never had I seen her take interest in her attire, let alone personally buy anything. Certainly not threads, sparkly or not.
Zairena was lying.
I was sure of it, but I said nothing. Instead, I watched her work the wheel, trying to memorize the way she drove it with one hand and fed the spindle with her other, producing a stream of fine silky thread.
It doesn’t look so hard,I thought, mimicking her motions behind my sleeves.How fast it spins. I could be finished in a few nights.
“Come, why don’t you try,” Zairena said, rising so Lady Bushian’s friends could have a turn at the wheel.
“Why, it is like spinning gold!”
Zairena beamed from the praise. “If I have any thread left, I’ll weave sashes for everyone.”
She sounded like she was in a generous mood. I rose to join the crowd around her wheel.
May I try?I gestured.
To her credit, Zairena’s smile did not falter. “I would not recommend it for you, dear Lina. Spinning is a delicate art, for nimble fingers.” She gestured publicly at my hands, and even Lady Bushian recoiled at the sight of my scars.
“I would rather spare you the pain.”
My fingers had gone through so much theywouldn’tfeel the pain, but I had no way of communicating that. Zairena had a voice; I did not.
I gave a curt nod, fuming as Zairena draped a sheet of muslin over her spinning wheel. The hour for leisure had ended, and not a moment too soon.
“Once your hands have healed, perhaps you too would like to make something for the emperor’s consort,” Lady Bushian said kindly. “Her Radiance has been grieving all winter for the lost children.”
I nearly laughed at the irony of her comment, well intentioned as it was. But I restrained myself, gave a vigorous shake of my head, and rose to leave.
“Lina, don’t forget your persimmons,” said Zairena, placing the parcel into my arms. She waved to Oriyu, who waited by the door. “Return my spinning wheel to my room.”
At the request, Oriyu’s brow wrinkled like a prune. The sentinel was not a maid, and transporting goods from one room to another was not one of his duties. But I had a feeling Zairena had noticed how intently I watched her spin and made the request to needle me. I needed to be more careful around her.
As the sentinel lugged it away, I stole one last glance at the spinning wheel. I would find a way to use it soon enough.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Four persimmons.
Each one was firm and plump, and perfectly edible, but Zairena’s insult was hardly veiled. Any gift given in fours was a wish for ill fortune to the recipient.
